The funeral pyre would burn for the rest of the day and long into the night. The body would be completely consumed and the ashes would be left, to be carried by the wind out over the land and the ocean. Those with means and influence were brought here, to this point, to give the gods the opportunity to reclaim their children. Poorer, more ordinary people, as there were far more of them, were burnt in the clay domes of the crematoria. Their ashes were given to their families in glass jars, so that their loved ones could send them to the gods. In this way, by fire, air, water and earth, all the deities were honoured.
The gods gave life to the people, and when that life was done, the person was given back to the gods. If that life had been full of goodness and honour, the spirit would be recreated, given another chance to live, another body to enliven. If the life had been lived in evil and cruelty, then the spirit would be doomed to float in the ether, until the gods deemed otherwise.
Elthrinn, Jorrell’s young sister, was clutching Serwren’s other hand. The tight grip, rigid enough to make Serwren’s’ fingers ache, was the only sign that she was not as composed as she outwardly appeared to everyone else. The young lady, only twelve years old, had been the one to discover her father’s body. She had begun to search for him when he had failed to appear for breakfast. She had found him in his study, slumped over his desk, grey and stiff with death. The glass of wine that he enjoyed after his supper had been knocked over before it had been finished. The red liquid had pooled, bright as molten rubies, on the tile floor. The glass had rolled off the desk and lay shattered in glittering crystal shards.
Elthrinn had changed since Jorrell had left, and not only in the way of a child becoming a young woman. She had always been a light-hearted soul before. Despite having never known her mother, her life had been filled with laughter. She had been doted on by the maids that cared for her, and she and her brother had adored each other. Jorrell had been the centre of Elthrinn’s universe, but her centre had abandoned her years before, taking much of the laughter from her life and forcing her to grow up much more quickly than she might otherwise have done.
Elthrinn’s hazel eyes, a curious mix of bronze and mossy green that had always fascinated Serwren, were wide with her attempts to keep her tears at bay. Serwren’s heart broke a little more for the quiet girl, but she didn’t dare try to wrap an arm around her shoulders. She knew that Elthrinn was holding onto a tenuous thread of control and any sign of affection would snap that fraying strand.
When Serwren had returned from her self-imposed exile with her new baby, she’d been determined to carve something of an existence for herself in Thrissia, something that could belong to her and her alone. She’d started by reconnecting with Elthrinn, feeling also that Jorrell’s sister needed someone constant in her life. They were frequent visitors at each other’s houses now, and Elthrinn had taken on the role of older sister to Ulli, who was completely and utterly besotted.
The stiff breeze became a cold gusting wind. The mourners began to disperse as the chill began to slice at their exposed skin. People streamed away from the edge of the cliff and headed towards the palace, where a feast was being readied. It was customary for family and friends to gather after the watching the pyre, or after scattering their loved one’s ashes to the winds, to take the opportunity to reminisce and celebrate the life of the deceased. Dimacius had arranged for the ballroom to be filled with food and wine and music. It would be a commemoration befitting a long-serving, well-loved and respected member of the Forum.
Elthrinn did not move at all. She kept staring at the burning mass until everyone had gone. Serwren stayed by her side and did not let go of her hand, but when they were completely alone and Elthrinn was still showing no signs of having noticed that everyone had left, Serwren became concerned. Ulli had tugged on her hand several times, he hadn’t understood why they weren’t following everyone else, but now he was waiting with perplexed patience.
“Rinn, it’s time...”
“I don’t want to go,” the young girl interrupted; her voice was rough with unshed tears. Serwren would have promised her the moon to see her smile again, but she knew that the moon was no use at all to Elthrinn now.
“That’s alright, you don’t have to go to the palace. We can go wherever you’d like to be, but we should find somewhere warm before you become ill.”
"If I go, if I leave this place, then it's truly over. He's truly dead. My life won't ever be the same again, and my father won't ever be coming back." Elthrinn still had not taken her eyes from the fire.
Serwren remained silent. She had no words of comfort. There was nothing she could do to turn the clock back. The gods knew she'd prayed hard for such a miracle on her own behalf many times. That Elthrinn's destiny was set on a new path was an irrevocable truth. Lost in her unvoiced pity for Elthrinn, Serwren almost missed the girl's next words.
“Do you think my brother will ever come home?”
Serwren couldn’t answer at first. She didn’t know how to answer. That question pierced straight to the heart of thoughts and feelings that she kept carefully locked away. She knew Jorrell was alive, she heard the reports of his bravery and progression through the ranks of the army, but she did not know if that meant he would ever return to Felthiss, let alone to Thrissia. In the end, she decided that she could only be honest with Jorrell’s sister.
“I hope that he will.”
“What will you do when he does?”
“What do you mean?” It was hard to fathom which direction Elthrinn’s mind was turning in, since her face was still the blank mask it had been all day, and was still turned to the pyre. Serwren wondered what childish hopes Elthrinn might have been harbouring; probably ones that were similar to her own ridiculous dreams.
“Well... you’re married now.”
“Yes, I am.”
“But you’re in love with my brother.”
“Yes I... was.”
Now Elthrinn turned to look at Serwren, and there was something a little like betrayal in her eyes. “You’re not anymore? Because he left?”
Serwren had no intention of explaining the details of Jorrell’s departure with Elthrinn. She didn’t think there would ever be a time when that story would be appropriate for Jorrell’s sister to hear. “It’s a little bit more complicated than that, Rinn.”
Betrayal turned to anger in a flash. “Don’t do that. Don’t speak to me like I’m a child.”
Serwren still wasn’t going to elaborate on the topic. “I’m sorry.” They had been alone for a while, so Serwren allowed the wound in her heart to re-open a little, as painful as it was. “I do still love your brother, but it’s been a long time, Rinn. I don’t know whether he still loves me. If, when, he comes home, he might bring a wife with him. He might even have had children of his own, by now. And I cannot leave my husband.” The wound was gaping and bleeding afresh.
“Why not? You don’t love Bornsig. And he’s creepy. I don’t like the way he smiles at me.” Elthrinn shuddered, and Serwren didn’t believe it was entirely due to the cold breeze. She shivered herself.
“Rinn, my husband hasn’t ever.... ?” Serwren was shocked that the words stuck in her throat. They were wedged tight. She couldn’t ask Elthrinn what she suddenly, badly, needed to know.
“No, no.” Elthrinn shook her head emphatically. “I make sure I don’t end up alone with him, though. He scares me.”
Serwren sagged with relief. A movement noticeable enough that Ulli tugged on her hand again, wordlessly asking if she was alright. “Good girl. Stay close to me whenever you’re at our house.”
“So why must you stay with him? He’s disgusting,” Elthrinn asked, obviously confused by the bizarre behaviour of adults.
Serwren felt the hollowness of her answer. “I’ve nowhere to go, Rinn. I’ve no house of my own, no money of my own. I have no way to earn a living, no means to even feed Ulli or myself.”
“Can’t you go back to the palace?”
“No.” It was Serwr
en’s turn to shake her head. “My father wouldn’t let me go back there. If I tried to leave Bornsig, my father would see that as a disgrace. He made that match for me. He wouldn’t be happy if I broke it.”
“So, you’ve got no one, just like me.”
Serwren was about to agree with Elthrinn, but she gulped past the lump in her throat. “No. That’s not true. You and me, we have each other, and we have Ulli.”
As if remembering that she was the reason that a small child was suffering a cold breeze, Elthrinn turned, letting go of Serwren’s hand as she did so, and allowed Serwren to guide them back to the city. As an apology to Ulli for making him stand so long, a reward for his patience, and as a way of warming him up, Serwren picked her sturdy son up and carried him as they walked.
“I don’t know where I’m supposed to go,” Elthrinn said as they picked their way down the rocky path.
“What do you mean? The feast is at the palace.”
“No. I still don’t want to go to that. I mean my house was my father’s house, and now he’s dead. It’s not my home anymore, is it? I don’t know where I’m supposed to go. I don’t have a home anymore.”
Serwren staggered under the weight of that statement. She paused, regaining her own mental equilibrium as well as her physical balance, and hefted Ulli up in her arms.
“We’ll go back to your father’s house tonight, if that’s where you want to go? I’ll come with you. You won’t be alone. You can sleep there tonight.” Serwren couldn’t think of any reason that would prevent them from doing just that.
“I’d like that. Thank you. It might be the last time that I’m allowed there.”
Since Serwren had no idea what provisions the consul had made for his children on the event of his death, if any, she could offer neither reassurance or argument. Instead, she walked with Elthrinn to what had been Consul Sephan’s house.
Despite Serwren’s repeated requests, Elthrinn would not eat. She did, at least, drink the warmed milk that Serwren had asked be prepared for the three of them. Elthrinn’s eyes were dropping by the time she finished her drink. Ulli had already fallen asleep in one of the more comfortable chairs. Serwren helped the staff, who were none the wiser to their fate than Elthrinn, to put the children to bed.
Serwren tucked Ulli into Jorrell’s bed. She would sleep there with him, when she was ready for sleep. She had a suspicion that it would elude her for some time this night. The room was tidy and clean. The maids had ensured that dust had not accumulated in it, even after all this time. All Jorrell’s belongings had been packed away, leaving the room sparse and bare, but Serwren's memories of him remained, showing as an illusion over the blank walls and empty corners. She missed him acutely in this space that had been his, but despite the pain that resting in Jorrell’s old room would bring her, Serwren wanted to take the opportunity to be as close to Jorrell's memory as it was physically possible to be.
Serwren was aimlessly perusing the consul’s library, and trying very hard not to remember that the study was the room that he had died in, when one of the maids brought a message from the palace that Dimacius wished to see his daughter. Serwren made sure that her charges would be cared for before she set off. The distance from Consul Sephan’s house to the palace was relatively short, and did not take her long to complete.
On her arrival at the palace, one of the servants met Serwren and escorted her to her father’s suite of rooms. She had only been there a handful of times since her wedding. Her relationship with her father could now be described as frosty, at best. She had not been able to forget that he had not believed her when she had tried to tell him that her brother had attacked her, or to forgive him for discarding her to the clutches of Consul Bornsig. The palace had quietened. The friends and associates of Consul Sephan had obviously finished partaking of the palace hospitality and had returned to their homes.
Serwren was granted entry to her father’s rooms, and he invited her to sit while he poured them both a goblet of wine each. Serwren perched on the edge of her seat, and although she accepted the goblet when her father gave it to her, she did not drink from it.
Dimacius saw that Serwren rejected his hospitality, but did not comment on it. He sat himself and took a long drink before he spoke. The years had etched fresh lines onto her father’s face, and had deepened others. For the first time, Serwren realised that her father looked old. She felt a twinge of sorrow on the heels of that thought.
“I won’t keep you, since you’re obviously eager to get back to your son and Sephan’s girl. I wanted to let you know, though, that I plan to make Elthrinn my ward. She will have a home here.”
Serwren was at once glad and afraid for the young girl. Elthrinn was an orphan now, with only her absent brother as family. She was glad, because Elthrinn would have a home, and a protector. She was afraid, because Erkas still lived in that home, and Serwren did not feel that Elthrinn would be safe in the palace.
She made a request on impulse. “Father, would it be so very awkward if Elthrinn were to stay with me, even if she were your ward? She could help me with Ulli. Those two are almost as close as brother and sister. I would ensure that she attended her studies in the library here as she has been doing. I have the time to worry about a child, you do not. Let me care for her.”
Dimacius tilted his head to one side and regarded his daughter. He appeared to be considering her proposal carefully. “I had thought to get her a nurse, but I see the sense in your request. The poor girl has no one left to her. I have noticed that you two remained close.” He paused and took another sip of his drink. “Very well. I will give her the protection of becoming my ward, but she can stay with you.” Dimacius paused, “If you think you can keep your husband from her?”
Serwren choked on the breath she’d been inhaling. Her father was concerned about Bornsig forcing himself on Elthrinn, but he had shown no such protectiveness towards his own daughter. Serwren swallowed back the list of epithets she’d been considering. “I believe I can ensure her safety.”
She’d get Elthrinn her own little knife, and show her how to use it.
“Good, good.” Her father nodded and took another drink. A long one. He drained his glass and refilled it before almost draining it again. “I hear Jorrell does well. He has been promoted, again.”
“Father, I almost wish you would return to asking me about when you will get another grandchild than speak of Jorrell.”
“You say I won’t have another grandchild.”
“That doesn’t stop you from asking. And no, you won’t. Either subject is equally painful for me, please chose another.” The years had definitely worn the edges off Serwren’s deference to her father.
She had asked him to pick a new topic, but she wasn’t expecting the direction that he chose to pursue.
“Daughter, who is Ulli’s father?”
Serwren jumped up. She dropped her goblet in her outrage, but neither she nor her father noticed as the wine splashed onto the floor. For a moment, she couldn’t speak past her outrage.
“How dare you ask me that.” Serwren took a deep breath to stop her voice from shaking. It didn't quite work. “You have no right to question his parentage. You wouldn’t listen to me when I tried to tell you that Erkas...”
“No!” Dimacius shouted the word and held his hand up. He had his eyes screwed shut. He didn’t open them. He didn’t look at Serwren. “I’m sorry I asked. Keep your secrets. I don’t want to hear them.”
“No, you never did. I don’t know why you asked now,” Serwren said with sad resignation. She took another deep breath, and drew herself to stand up straight. She lifted her chin. “Elthrinn is in her own home tonight, where she wanted to be. I will stay with her. In the morning I will explain and make the necessary arrangements to move her belongings.”
“Very well, daughter. Thank you.” Dimacius had opened his eyes, but he was looking into his goblet, not at his daughter, as he spoke.
Serwren felt the cold chill as the last of her
daughterly love and devotion for her father flickered and died. “I’m not doing it for you, Father. I’m doing it for Elthrinn.”
Chapter Fourteen
“I’m so hot, even my fucking eyeballs are sweating.”
“For Taan’s sake, stop moaning. It could be worse. It could be fucking raining. Would you rather be back in Naidac?” Jorrell wasn’t any happier about the heat than Cael, but it was infinitely preferably to constant, chilly moisture.
“Of course I fucking wouldn’t, but would it kill people to have war in a fucking temperate climate?”
Jorrell just raised an eyebrow at his friend. He had no idea if the pun had been intentional or not. He couldn’t see enough of Cael’s face past the swathe of turban and the wrapping of his cloak to tell by his expression.
A cloak seemed like an oxymoron in the desert, but the wide lengths of thin cotton had many purposes. Turbans shielded their heads from the deadly rays of the sun. The long cloaks, wrapped over loosely fitting tunics and trews of the same material, were as cool as any clothing could be during the day, whilst shielding the skin from the burning heat. At night, when the heat disappeared along with the sun, when a man could freeze to death as easily as he could bake during the day, the cloaks were essential for warmth.
Lost in the Dawn (Erythleh Chronicles Book 1) Page 15
